You Said You Couldn't Dance
by Lucyrne
Summary: The Shibusen Spring Swirl is rapidly approaching, and Maka's belligerent weapon won't step on that dance floor. With a little stubbornness and a lot of UST, both partners get the romantic, carnal night they wanted. Entry for Reverb 2015. Some explicit content.


**Note: This is my first submission for Reverb 2015! My artist partner was darkkresonance. I thank her for coming up with this awesome idea and making amazing art to go with it. I also thank earth-shines for betaing my dumb writing.**

 **Warning: Some NSFW content.**

9 a.m. - The Apartment

Maka and Soul were going to dance up a storm at the Shibusen Spring Swirl whether her weapon and his fangirls wanted it or not.

The female population of Shibusen was out of control. Their hormone-fueled madness had to be stopped. The steady stream of love letters that accrued in Soul's locker increased ten-fold since the announcement of the dance, and his most extreme admirers had grown bold. They had even begun to ask Soul out while Maka, his partner and bona fide lover, was standing right beside him. The nerve! What did she have to do to make it plainly clear that Soul's date to the goddamned Spring Swirl had long been chosen? Write her name on his dress shirt? Disrobe for him on the dance floor? Collapse into a carnal heap by the punch bowl?

Those ideas might have seemed extreme, but cognitive dissonance was a powerful thing. Forcing a pack of manic fangirls to accept what is right in front of them required something a little shocking. And frankly, Maka was prepared to go to any lengths necessary.

It was _Valentine's Day_ , for Death's sake.

Of course, the most infuriating and immature pissbaby of them all was Soul Eater Evans himself, who had somehow decided that hemming and hawing about how much he hated parties was going to fix their problems. Maka didn't want to attend the dance either; at this point, it was the principle of the thing!

The smell of smoke brought Maka out of her thoughts and back to her task. She was in her living room, hunched over an ironing board as she smoothed the folds of her red-as-sin dress. The smoke was wafting through the air just beneath her nose.

Maka realized with a start that she had been pressing an iron into her dress skirt for far too long. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she quickly removed the iron and blew on her poor, smoking dress. Luckily, the fabric was not scorched, though it did smell slightly of burnt toast. It was nothing a small spritz of perfume couldn't fix. Ironing the pleats of her dress while distracted was clearly a bad idea, so Maka carefully lifted the red frock off the ironing board to stow it back in her wardrobe.

After hanging it up in her bedroom, she wistfully rubbed the red fabric between her fingers. It wasn't as elegant as the Black Dress that existed in the dark recesses of her weapon's subconscious-there was literally no dress the lived up to Soul's imagination, she had looked everywhere-but it would have to do.

Behind her, Maka heard a loud, unrestrained yawn. She turned and saw Soul tangled up in her bedsheets, stretching his arms as he finally roused himself from his deep slumber. It had been a long time since the partners had slept in separate beds, and she couldn't help but smirk with a little pride. Their lustful, sweaty bodies had christened most of the furniture in the apartment, but there was something about seeing her girlhood bed occupied by her adulthood love that made her feel more satisfied, more complete.

He wiped drool off the corner of his mouth and sniffed. "Why does it smell like a barbecue in here?" Soul asked.

"I was ironing my dress," Maka said. "It sort of got away from me, but the dress is fine. All ironed and ready to swish."

Soul scowled. "The dress...for the dance? We still going to that?"

Maka popped out her hip and shot him a withering look. "Well, I don't know Soul. We bought tickets. I bought a dress. You have a tux. I'm getting my hair done and then we're getting dressed up and going out. Do _you_ think we're going to the dance?"

It usually took Soul at least fifteen minutes after waking up to gather his snark, so his reply was especially blunt, even for him. "Maybe I thought you would listen to me when I said I didn't want to go."

"Maybe I thought you would listen to me when I told you how much I _did_ want to go."

He sighed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Same old argument, huh?"

"Yep." Inspired by the crisp smell of smoke, Maka turned on her heel and entered the kitchen to make some real toast for breakfast. She had no sooner retrieved their loaf of bread when Soul wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her backwards into his chest. Maka could immediately feel his feathered breath by her ear, and she suppressed a shiver.

"Hey," Soul said more tenderly, brushing his lips against her temple. Her senses went into overdrive at the touch of his warm mouth. "We can still get dressed up and go out to eat with our friends. I just want to skip the rest of it."

The meister knew what he was doing. While being nuzzled felt dizzyingly good, Maka took his concession as a challenge. "Why?" she said. "Too embarrassed to let your fangirl posse see you dance with your girlfriend?"

Soul snorted. "Well you do have two left feet."

He bent over to nuzzle the crook of her neck, and Maka lightly pushed him away. "Go shower off that morning boy stink."

"You mean man stink."

Maka popped a couple bread slices into the toaster and didn't turn when the warmth of Soul's presence ebbed away. Still, she felt the loss keenly.

With slow, lumbering footsteps, Soul obeyed his meister and headed over to the shower. Over his shoulder, Soul said, "Fine. If you want to go to this event so bad, be my guest. You'll have a blast." He disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Maka rested her hands against the counter and waited by the toaster, pursing her lips. Soul had promised years before that he would follow her wherever she went, but he had also refused to dance in public throughout their entire partnership. She had thought that when those two impulses collided, his desire to stay at her side would win out. Was this not the case? Or was Soul simply being difficult for the sake of being difficult?

He certainly never held back in the Black Room all those years ago. Remembering their mid-battle waltzes in his mind, Maka couldn't fathom what was blocking him from simply taking her hand and spinning her to oblivion in the flesh.

Perhaps it was the smoke fumes that clouded her judgment. Or maybe it wasn't that her judgment was clouded, but that her deep, unrelenting _urges_ had sharpened. If Soul was indeed being difficult, Maka knew how to tame him. She wanted to do nothing more than to stop talking, stop thinking, and start feeling. Feeling him breathe hotly in her ear, grasping her waist, sliding a tentative hand up her thigh while she took him in hand. Her very skin cried out for his.

When the toaster dinged, Maka removed the bread from the toaster and placed them on a plate before barreling towards the shower. It was time to settle this.

Gaining righteousness with every step, Maka charged into the bathroom and peeled off her shirt. Once inside the steam room, she threw her shirt on the ground, dropped her shorts, and ripped back the shower curtain. Soul, naked and half-covered in soap suds, cried out in alarm.

Still in her skivvies, Maka stepped into the bath and closed the shower curtain behind her. "Why do you really hate the idea of dancing with me?" she said over the din of the shower. Soul, too tall to wash his hair without stooping below the showerhead, blocked most of the hot water with his drenched back. Steam and small sprays of water dampened Maka's hair and bra. Her panties were wet too, albeit for an entirely different reason.

He gave her a quizzical look. "You came in here to ask me that?" Maka took a step forward and placed a hand on his scar. The water was streaming over his shoulders and down his naked chest, and Maka closed her eyes as the hot water ran over her hand and misted around her.

With heavy-lidded eyes, she finally said, "I just thought that you would have more to say."

His crimson eyes darkened with want. Soul always was especially talented at picking up Maka's moods. "Is there something else you want to say?"

"No."

It was difficult to pinpoint who stepped forward to kiss who first, but in the middle of her needy lips trailing up Soul's neck and his hands blazing their own path to Maka's rear, neither of them cared. Their lips met in a flurry of movement, hardly stopping to breathe as wantonly kissed and bit. Soul's teeth lightly caught on Maka's bottom lip, eliciting a wanton moan, and their hips came together with the deliberate force of a magnet.

His cock at full attention, Soul guided it between her legs and rubbed ever so slowly against Maka's soaked panties. They both gasped. Failing to remove any of her underwear before hopping in the shower was clearly a bad call. The contact through the scant fabric separating her core from him began to wind her up like a music box, and the tantalizing motions of his hips against hers was very close to making her sing. Moving his mouth to her neck, Soul hooked his thumb on the waistband of her panties, just inside the crook of her hip bone and thigh, and rubbed small circles into her skin.

She dragged her nails down his spine to the small of his back, and his mouth and exploratory hands faltered. They both craved sensual contact with a sharp edge, a lot of pleasure with a soft twinge of pain. Following her lead, Soul grazed his sharp teeth down her slender neck and began to suck once she leaned into him.

Steam clouded around them both, and Maka's hand trailed down his stomach and towards his erection. Maka was a mere thought away from tearing off her clothes and grabbing hold of him when a sharp doorbell shattered the mood.

"Fuck," Soul growled into her ear. "Ignore it, they'll come back."

"No she won't," Maka said. With regret, her wandering hand veered off course and pushed Soul away. "It's Liz. If I don't catch her now she'll just go home."

"Maybe she should," he said unhappily.

"I wish, but she has something I need."

Maka left the bathroom even more quickly than she entered it, fumbling with her bathrobe and nearly slipping on the bathroom tile. She made it to the front door and yanked it open.

Liz Thompson stood lazily in the door frame with a shoebox under one arm. The demon pistol had her long brown hair in rollers. Her eyes, usually a little absent or bored, immediately gave Maka an intrigued once over. "I've got the shoes you wanted to borrow," Liz said, eyeing Maka's robe. "Now these are black suede. If something happens to these pumps, I'll kill you and then I'll kill myself."

"You have an entire closet of fancy suede stuff and I don't think I've ever seen you wear them," Maka retorted.

Liz smirked and leaned one shoulder against the door frame "You have an entire closet of clothes too, but I hardly ever see you wearing those. Also, pigtails in shower? You two horny kids wouldn't know discretion if it knocked out your front teeth." Maka was already battling a fierce blush brought on by sex and hot water, and this wasn't helping.

"Thanks for the shoes," Maka said as she snatched away the shoebox. Though the shoes were hardly Black Room material, they were essential to completing Maka's meticulously chosen outfit for this damned dance. Plus with the shoes in her possession, Maka could at least trust Liz to delay the gossip train until after she got back her collateral. "I'll return them in good condition."

"Sure thing." As Maka swung the door closed, she heard Liz singsong, "Be sure to do everything that I would doooo!"

The fire that ignited inside the shower was nothing more than a sad, smoking ember now. With no small amount of difficulty, Maka tugged out her soggy, tangled pigtails and retreated to her bedroom to change. The shower roared for several minutes longer before Soul finally shut it off. His lingering desire was palpable, but the ever-intuitive Soul knew the moment had passed.

Still naked, Soul sat on the bed and waited until Maka finished dressing and flopped right next to him. His arms quickly wrapped around her torso, and he pulled her to him in a lazy tackle. Once she snuggled up against him as quickly as she could, Maka rested her chin on his shoulder.

"I'll head over in a couple hours to pick up my tux," Soul said. "I guess we'll meet up at dinner."

He smelt like patchouli, which was dangerous because it made Maka want to bury her face deep into his earthy skin. "I'm thinking we can pick up where we left off after we get off that dance floor," Maka said.

"Just because I'm attending a dance doesn't mean I'm going to partake."

She clicked her tongue. "Fine," she said flippantly. "Then we'll just have to raincheck sex until after the dance."

Soul snorted. "We have hours before this thing, and you can't go twenty minutes without trying to jump my bones. Plus that's punishing us both, what's the point?"

"There's no point." Maka said with a shrug. "I just don't think I'll feel like it until after we've danced."

With a lazy smile, Soul drew close and left a soft kiss on her ear. "After, huh? If you say so." His low, gravelly voice caused an involuntary shiver to trickle down Maka's body.

Rolling her eyes, Maka playfully hit his bicep and left the room to retrieve her forgotten toast. As she left, Maka looked over her shoulder and caught a strange, stubborn look on Soul's face. The promise of future sexcapades? The challenge that future sexcapades would happen, just as he assumed they would? Now that Maka considered it, she didn't like his knowing tone. _If you say so._ She did say so!

At any rate, she had at least gotten him to promise to actually go to the dance. That battle was won. Convincing Soul to actually take to the dance floor would require further, firmer coaxing. Luckily, Maka thought to herself with a smile, firm coaxing was something she had in spades.

* * *

3 p.m. - The Hair Salon

The meaning of Soul's dumb infuriating smirk became clear when they picked up his tux from the tailor.

That damn boy had an enormous growth spurt shortly before the Battle on the Moon, and his tuxedo from the Shibusen Founder's Day all those years ago was far too small. The moment he had put on his new tuxedo and exited the dressing room, he started to send her _signals._ A bitten lip, a heated look, a pair of tight buns in dress pants.

Maka had not bargained for just how sexy Soul would look in a new tailored suit, and after their teasing in the shower, she very nearly joined Soul in the dressing room for some secretive heavy petting. But the meister couldn't, not because she didn't want to, but because she was born stubborn and proud of it.

Worse yet, the albino devil knew what he was doing. The deliberate way he adjusted his sleeves, the languid smirk he threw her when he noticed Maka staring. She wanted to throttle him out of that tux. That would teach the smug bastard.

But Maka had already made up her mind. This was a contest now, a test of wills. She wasn't going to give in just because Soul was especially edible in a suit. She was stronger than this.

Her hair appointment at Entrails Hair Salon would provide her with brief reprieve from Soul's heated stares at least. Maka would just have to survive the scrutiny of her friends instead.

It was not Maka's original plan to get some fancy hairdo for an event she only sort of cared about (though she was caring more and more about this damned dance every minute) because her standard pigtails were the perfect combination of practical and attractive. Still, there was something magical and exciting about undergoing some fairy tale transformation right before the ball. With her dress slung over an empty chair nearby and her borrowed heels waiting in their box, Maka was sure as hell that she would reunite with her weapon in a much fancier state than she left.

Liz, Tsubaki, and Maka were quickly lined up under heat lamps, where they would wait for their elaborate hairstyles to set. Patty was the only one whose head was not covered in tinfoil or coiled in rollers because she had decided against getting her hair done at all. She had only come along for fun.

"What's got you all frowny?" Patty asked Maka. The demon pistol was draped completely in a barbers chair, and absentmindedly fiddled with the various scissors, brushes, and other equipment stored nearby. A poor hair stylist looked on from afar, visibly distressed.

Maka's answer was curt. "I'm not frowny."

"You weren't frowny earlier this morning," Liz said without taking her eyes off her copy of _Glamour._ "Okay, you weren't happy to see me, but I thought you looked at least a little happy. Did you and Soul fight again or something?"

"We're not fighting. We're just being assholes to each other. It's very different."

With a glance towards her sister, Liz said, "Well, whoever you end up bringing to the shindig later tonight, keep them close. It's open season the moment we get there." Neither Liz nor Patty had bothered to lock down dates. Instead, their plan was to simply poach the manmeat that was already there.

"I know Soul is going," Maka said. She was trying very hard to act nonchalant. It was difficult to act like she didn't care at least a little when Soul was involved. "He's just being stubborn. My life would be so much easier right now if he just quit complaining and danced with me."

"Just use the naked trick," Patty suggested. "He'll be putty in your scrappy little meister hands."

Maka had never heard of such a trick, and neither had any of their friends. Though they were all baffled, it was Tsubaki, whose cheeks had pinked, that finally asked for clarification. "Sorry Patty, but I don't think getting naked to tease a guy is a, um, a _trick_ exactly."

"No, no, no, it's super subliminal." The girls leaned towards Patty, eager to listen. "You need to slip the word 'naked' into your conversation. It'll make him think about you naked, and then he'll want to see you naked, and then…"

"That's your big trick?" Liz asked with a loud guffaw. "I do that all the time by accident."

"And does it work?" Liz furrowed her eyebrows for a moment before eyes went wide. "See?" Patty said. "If you program him to think the right things, it will drive him nuts."

As interesting as Patty's little strategy was, Maka had entertained this long enough. "Soul's not that dumb," Maka said. She flipped the page of her magazine with a clipped flourish. "I think he would notice if I suddenly started calling things naked for no reason."

"Plus most people are already constantly thinking about sex," Tsubaki mentioned offhandedly. "Saying naked isn't going to make a difference." It was one of those random moments where everyone suddenly remembered who the Book of Eibon had identified as the horniest of their group, despite all assumptions of the contrary. The girls politely dropped the subject and returned to their magazines, if only to save Tsubaki any embarrassment.

After the hair appointment to end all hair appointments concluded, Maka was whisked away to Gallows Manor, where they were to get dressed and prepare for dinner. Kid was mercifully detained back at Shibusen. As Lord Death, it was apparently his forsworn duty to supervise the event's decor crew.

Maka was beside herself for the first twenty minutes of gal pal dress up time, which involved putting on a lot of spandex. She sat with her dress laid on her lap, watching baffled as her friends tripped over their hosiery.

"It's your teeny meister body," Liz had said to her. "You beat people up so often that you couldn't suck in if you tried. The rest of us languish in curvy weapon land. Patty, help me wiggle into this thing."

Patty complied, holding the spandex by the waistband and Liz jumped and wiggled into it. "It's a good thing Kiddo ain't here," Patty said with a shake of her head. "He would of ripped you a new one trying to yank this on. Can't show restraint unless he's gotta pair of tweezers…"

* * *

6 p.m. - Evil Olive

Once the spandex hurdle was vanquished, getting ready for the big event was simple. Maka slapped a couple band aids on her heels (Liz had forbidden blisters bursting on her suede pumps) and she was good to go.

While Tsubaki had opted to pile her hair in an elaborate bun on the top of her head and Liz arranged hers into loose curls cascading down her shoulders, Maka chose to wear her hair in a smart, low chignon secured at the base of her neck. Her bangs were swept to side and pinned, revealing a forehead that hardly ever saw the light of day beneath her fluffy blonde hair.

The hair was the only part of Maka's ball outfit that she truly felt comfortable with. Her dress wasn't elaborate. Form-fitting around the torso and flared at the hip, her blood red frock at least complimented her eyes. Actually wearing the thing made her feel off, ill-fitting, gangly. She wasn't glamorous like any of her three friends. She was a twig in a dress that faintly smelled like smoke, a charlatan posing as Cinderella, undeserving of the prince waiting for her. In Liz's suede shoes, Maka walked like a fawn with broken legs, knees wobbling with each step as she navigated her way out of the manor.

Maka somewhat dreaded reuniting with her weapon, especially since she had already seen him trying on his impeccable tuxedo.

Those concerns melted away the moment she arrived at the restaurant. Soul and Black Star were waiting outside the restaurant when the girls' limo dropped them off. Her weapon's crisp black tux had a rich crimson pocket square and a matching tie. Maka was torn between tearing it off with savage want and religiously preserving its perfection. Black Star looked surprisingly well groomed, save for his spiky hair.

The reigning king of apathy and patron saint of the poker face couldn't hide his look of pure affection when he saw his meister. Soul's eyes locked with hers the moment she stepped out of the limo. That look was heated but soft, full of admiration and love.

Soul snaked his arm around Maka's waist and pulled her close to whisper, "You look amazing tonight."

"The others look wonderful, too."

He pressed his lips to her skin and murmured into her neck, "I'm not looking at them."

It quickly clear just how much their few hours of separation had affected Soul. He kept caressing her left hip, slightly smelling her hair, a small, satisfied smile playing upon his lips. Even his soul wavelength purred like a kitten in her presence. With a well placed word and a sensual smile, Maka would have Soul so frustrated that he would be dying to whatever she wanted-even dance.

Dinner that evening was to be hosted at Evil Olive, a local Italian restaurant that fulfilled Black Star's strict regimen of carbs and protein and everyone else's desire to eat cheaply. The only one who wasn't a fan of the establishment was Soul, who often turned up his nose at franchised restaurants that "lacked cultural authenticity or culinary direction." His words, not hers.

They were quickly shown to their long table, and Maka was seated directly across from her weapon and between the Thompson sisters. She was a little miffed to be sandwiched between the sisters instead of, say, Soul and a wall, but Maka was ready to make do. Besides, steamy eye contact was easier to execute while sitting across from someone.

Everyone but Black Star ordered a small salad to whet their appetites. Desperately trying to ignore the sounds of Black Star chewing multiple breadsticks at once, Maka turned a lettuce leaf over with her fork. The salad was overall quite depressing, but with one disappointment came another opportunity.

"Too bad there isn't any dressing," Maka noted loftily to the table. "Without it, tossed salad just seems so naked."

"Yeah, it's bland," Soul agreed, pushing his plate away. "Why did we come to the Olive Garden of Death City again?"

"Maybe I'm being a little hasty here," Maka cut in. She thoughtfully put a piece of lettuce in her mouth and chewed it with a satisfying crunch. "I sort of like it naked."

The naked trick was utterly failing on her weapon, who chose this moment to pick his teeth in the least conceivably sexy (or polite!) way. "Doesn't change that fact that unseasoned salad is just rabbit food," he said. "I can't believe we're paying ten dollars each for this crap."

On the other end of the table, Black Star swallowed audibly. "Dude, that's why you get the unlimited garlic breadsticks, not a sad little salad. Here, I'll hook you up with one-"

Maka dropped her fork and huffed. Seductive eating didn't really work with salad, especially when competing with Black Star's plateful of buttery breadsticks. Soul stood up to reach across the table, and an idea dawned on her. Maka sucked in her lips to prevent a wide, knowing grin from spreading across her face.

Who needed to repeat the word 'naked' when you could just go straight to the source?

With the sharp, swift reflexes only a seasoned meister could possess, Maka's heeled foot cut upwards underneath the table and lodged itself between Soul's legs. Her weapon swallowed what appeared to be a hiccup and dropped back into his chair. If there was any expression of surprise or want on his face, it quickly vanished and was replaced with his usual mask of bored apathy.

Meanwhile, Maka politely cast her eyes down at her plate and skewered another piece of spinach with her fork. She was the exact image of casual innocence. Nothing suspicious about Maka Albarn. She didn't have a single conniving bone in her body.

Maka pressed the toebox of her heel forward. Soul's mouth twitched, and she smiled.

Dinner had just become far more interesting.

Their main courses soon arrived, causing most conversation to stop as they dug into their various pasta and entrees. As she ate her tortellini and cast a satisfied eye towards her weapon, Maka gently rubbed and kneaded him. She couldn't very well feel the effect she was having on him through Liz's suede heels, but it was writ plain in his shallower breaths and strained face. Well, it was plain to her. No one else at the table seemed to notice Soul's distress at all.

Maka began to massage him slowly, establishing a rhythm far steadier than either of their heartbeats. After she stole a surreptitious glance across the table, Maka noted that Soul's cheeks were decidedly pinker.

"I need to get up," Soul said suddenly, not breaking eye contact with Maka.

"Why you telling us that?" Black Star quipped beside him.

"Just saying," Soul grunted. Pursing her lips, Maka gingerly removed her foot from Soul's crotch so he could rise from his chair. He quickly rebuttoned his jacket, but not before Maka spied the bulge in his trousers. Oh, Soul had gotten up alright. Maintaining the utmost composure, he silently maneuvered through the restaurant and disappeared into a corridor on the other side of the room.

Soul had only been absent for a few moments before Maka sensed a sudden twang in his wavelength. She started, and immediately swerved to look across the restaurant. Was is a distress signal? Was Soul in trouble? He was clearly summoning her, and judging by the urgency of his wavelength, it was dire.

Excusing herself, Maka hurried towards the bathroom.

Like most Evil Olive franchises, the bathrooms were found along a narrow hall hidden away from the main dining room. The lights were low to maintain Evil Olive's macabre ambiance, so much so that had she not already screened the area and known it was Soul, Maka would have clocked any mysterious guy who tried to touch her from the shadows.

Instead, she allowed herself to be roped in by her weapon, who immediately held her close and pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Thank death you're here," Soul breathed. He gently ran his thumb over her bottom lip. "So I have an emergency."

Judging by the hardness pushing into Maka's hip, it was pretty clear what kind of emergency Soul was experiencing. "You have a strange definition of 'emergency.'"

"Before I was just messing around with you, but what if we actually did it in the Olive Garden bathroom? Shit Maka, that's got to earn us a new sex achievement."

Maka's jaw dropped a little, aghast. Sex in public was a stunt they had discussed in detail, but never followed through on. Somehow, she had never expected to finally fulfill that fantasy in this restaurant, of all places. "This isn't just Olive Garden! I've been going to Evil Olive since I was a kid, I'm not having sex in the little girl's room."

"The men's room is completely open!" She made a face. "What?" Soul asked, grin spreading across his face. "I spend the entirety of middle school trying and failing to gross you out, and sex in a public bathroom is the thing that finally does it?"

"I am not grossed out!" Maka protested fiercely. "There's just no privacy in there, and everyone would figure out where we had gone. They'd bring it up for weeks, and I won't return for dessert just to see Black Star's stupid smug face-"

"But that's what makes it fun." Soul pressed his torso flush against her, not so urgently as to back her into the wall, but enough for his nose to softly brush against hers. "You and me. A small room. The adrenaline of discovery. Sounds way better than dessert to me."

All things considered, that didn't sound very bad at all. It sounded a lot more fun than sitting at dinner between the Thompson sisters, yet giving in now before they had even made it to the dance struck her as feckless. Maka wasn't a person to give up, not so soon.

She learned into Soul's ear and whisper, "Hey, horndog."

"Yes, dear?"

"Think of my father doing the stanky leg in the nude, and then come back to dinner."

Maka left Soul in the bathroom corridor looking stricken. A few minutes after she sat back down, her weapon returned and stiffly sat back in his seat. Dessert was ordered shortly after, but it didn't taste nearly as sweet as glorious victory.

* * *

8 p.m. - Shibusen Spring Swirl

The Shibusen Spring Swirl was more resplendent than the former Lord Death's parties ever were. Deep maroon drapes outline with gold framed every window, and students helped themselves to a magnificent music was thankfully provided by a DJ instead of a full orchestra as Kid had originally intended. Tracks that featured fast beats, deep bass drops, and rollicking mandolins put the Shibusen student body at ease, allowing students to actually let loose instead of succumbing to middle school dance syndrome.

On the other side of the ballroom, she spotted Kid encouraging a timid Crona to get on the dance floor. Elsewhere in the crowd, Liz performed complex gyrations upon the dateless Kilik, who was keeping up with her very well. Patty was nowhere to be seen, but she could certainly be heard hollering words of endearment to a dance partner who was likely unprepared for her energy.

Soul had been giving her eyes all night, had propositioned her in the restaurant, yet now he seemed bent on attaching himself to the wall like a sour barnacle. How he could go from literally suggesting an impromptu bathroom romp to avoiding Maka at all costs was baffling, but not surprising. Old habits died hard.

The only good thing about Soul's hunched shoulders and grim expression was that it was scaring his fangirls away. The younger students were crowded by a table, sipping small goblets with punch with peckish looks on their faces and eyes narrowed into thin slits. Maka noted with satisfaction that most of them looked like cupcakes in their frilly dresses and ribbons. Beside them, she was the goddamn Duchess of Cambridge.

Her heels clicked behind her as she strode over to her weapon, her date, her lover. It was petty to relish the jealousy oozing off of Soul's admirers, but Maka could deal with a little pettiness. This was Valentine's Day, and she was going to spend it with her valentine. When Soul saw her approach, he tried unsuccessfully to melt into the wall and avoid her eyes.

"Hey Romeo," she said. "You're making a great case for prom king with this hard-to-get act of yours." Soul shrugged. He wasn't as interested in being playful and friendly as he was at the restaurant.

"It's too hot over there," Soul mumbled, jerking his chin towards the dance floor. "Half those girls aren't even wearing their shoes anymore. They're just sliding all over the floor with their foot sweat."

One of 'those girls' was definitely Patty with her skirt hiked up above her knees. "These events really bring out the Evans in you," Maka remarked. "Is being above it all really that much fun?"

Soul's shoulders stiffened for a moment before he peeled himself off the wall. "Come on," he groaned. "Let's get this over with."

They walked hand-in-hand to the dance floor. The ballroom lights darkened, and the music shifted to something slow and sensual. As the partners moved through the throngs of students, Maka noticed with interest that most dancers were either mouthing the lyrics or mouthing each other. Soul's declaration to "get this over with" wasn't promising, but the dance could be salvaged yet.

Soul stopped short somewhere in the middle of the crowd. This, Maka presumed, was the place he had decided to commence their dance. Though she loathed to admit it, Soul was right-the dance floor was extremely slippery, much more than Maka had bargained for. Almost immediately after putting her hands on Soul's shoulders and taking her first step, Maka's right heel slipped on the glistening floor. She lost her balance and faceplanted into her weapon's chest.

Thankfully, Soul's wiry arms caught her by the waist before Maka could slide completely to the floor. "A little eager, huh?" Soul mumbled in her ear.

His voice gave her goosebumps. "Shut up and dance with me."

Their bodies were already thwarting the "Leave Room for Lord Death" rule of the dance floor, so Maka leaned into him. Or rather pressed into him. They had had a long day. The comfort of being in his arms, the thrill of her hips grinding against his, was totally deserved and, considering what everyone else was doing, completely commonplace. The partners swayed in place, oblivious to the gradually climbing beat.

The beat dropped with the suddenness of a detonating bomb, and in the heat of the crowd's torrent of jumping, Soul spun Maka around and adhered himself to her ass. Consumed with heat and driven by rising lust, Maka dipped low, reveling into the slow caress of Soul's hands sliding down her torso and to her hips. They ground against each other shamelessly, yet Soul's hands and mouth remained restrained, distant.

Going from zero to a hundred in a single beat drop should be enough to leave any dancer breathless, let alone a couple that was grinding as they were, but Maka was left wanting. When there was a break in the music, Maka looked over her shoulder.

"You're right," Maka panted. "It really is too hot in here. Can we go on the balcony?"

With a tight smirk, Soul nodded. He delicately took her hand and led her away from the throbbing crowd.

The sun had long fallen asleep and sunk beneath the horizon and the cool desert air washed over Maka like a pleasant fog. The Shibusen campus was chock full of balconies, verandas, and breezeways, so it was only a short walk before the pumping music faded away and the last stragglers of the dance were left behind.

They both looked over Death City's inverted skyline, which plunged downhill in a strange spiral of lopsided housing and crooked streets. The sky was a deep purple now, and the only light same from the grinning moon glowing above them. The sight was both as beautiful as it was transient. But in the evening's stillness and quiet lay a hint of mischief, because night never truly fell in Death City until someone did something unequivocally naughty.

The frisky glint in Soul's eyes was unmistakable. She had seen it that morning in the shower, that afternoon at the tailor's, and that evening at Evil Olive. This time, Maka was game. Leaving the balcony rail, Maka backed herself against the cold stone bricks of Shibusen's outer wall and gathered up her red skirt. Soul followed her lead at once and slid right on to his knees, brand-new dress pants be damned.

When Maka first felt Soul's sharp teeth graze her inner thigh, all she could think was, _Thank Death I didn't wear hose._

He gently brushed over her lacey panties with the backs of his fingertips, caressing her center. Maka's skin tingled delightfully, and she moved to shimmy those panties off-a feat made more difficult by her heels. Soul leaned back on his knees as she slipped them off, both mesmerized and amused. Maka didn't feel the need to explain, because surely he understood the urgency and thrill of doing this _right now_ before they were discovered or lost their chance.

When the underwear finally cleared her left heel, Maka pulled her boyfriend forward with a soft grunt.

"So damn impatient," Soul muttered before giving her center one long lick. He laughed when Maka instinctively jerked forward, alight with passion. Soul, ever the obliging lover, tasted her fully with smooth, rhythmic strokes that spanned from her outer walls to down into her core. He slowly worked his way toward his clitoris with gentle motions and flicks and slid the tip of his index finger in her vagina.

If the dual stimulation wasn't enough to set her body atingle, Soul flicking her clitoris with merciless precision certainly was. Her clit was a livewire, and Maka bucked her hips in time with Soul's unrelenting tongue. Maka's pleasure abruptly flared and receded like the ocean at high tide, gradually building higher and higher until it threatened to pull both lovers into the undertow.

Maka's mewls and gasps were at first matched by Soul's own moans but her voice overtook his as a wave of pleasure rose to its highest crest. Sensing that Maka was close to her climax, Soul quit his varied movements in order to focus solely on her clit. He held her ass with both hands and pressed his forehead into the bundle of red fabric of Maka's skirt so he could keep his movement exact and consistent.

She always told herself that she would hold out, enjoy the ride rather than rush to the end, but the moment Maka's climax hit a certain peak, it charged forward like a water breaking through a river dam. Her entire body stiffened and Maka swallowed a sharp cry to maintain some form of half-assed discretion. Soul held fast until the very end, not slowing his pace until his meister's body once again became relaxed and quiet.

Just because she had come didn't mean that Soul was done with her. His tongue lingered, flicking her still sensitive clit, and then he traced her upper thighs with slow, wet kisses. The slightness of his touch set her on fire all over again, and Maka guided her boyfriend's head out from underneath her skirt.

"Let's get out of here," Maka whispered.

It was a good thing Maka was already plenty wound up, because Soul's ensuing snort was not sexy at all. "The tables have finally turned, huh?"

"They sure did. So do you want to celebrate V-Day here, or-"

"Or," Soul immediately answered. "Or sounds good."

* * *

10 p.m. The Apartment

Whatever poise and composure the two had scraped together before leaving Shibusen collapsed completely the moment their apartment door was in sight. Maka rifled through her purse to noisily retrieve her keys, and Soul stood behind her and began to slowly moved his hands up and down her waist. He dotted her neck with slight kisses as Maka shoved her key into the lock and yanked it open. They tumbled inside, kicked the door closed, and pressed their bodies together as if their very souls depended on it.

Their impeccably chosen outfits were discarded and crumpled on the floor in a trail that led to Maka's bedroom. Maka's red dress did not make it halfway across the room, nor did Soul's jacket, shirt, waistcoat, and tie. In their whirlwind of kissing and touching, gasping and moaning, Maka couldn't even remember what had become of Liz's goddamn suede shoes.

The dance, the clothes, the stares, it all seemed so trivial now. This connection they had, this ravenous melding of souls, was the only thing either partner knew. Everything else melted away.

Wearing nothing but her white cami and panties, Maka pushed Soul away so she could tug out her chignon and set her hair free. Soul, who in his excitement had come down with a case of the butter fingers, had only gotten as far as unbuttoning his belt and dress pants before Maka pulled him towards her. She backed herself against the wall and hooked one leg around his waist and her arms around his neck. They grinded upon each other against the wall, a reenactment of both their dance and their balcony tryst, kissing with a madness only lovers shared.

Soul lifted Maka so both of her legs would wrap around his hips, and the two tottered into the her bedroom so they could finally, _finally,_ satisfy the cravings for body and soul they had suppressed since morning.

Sex at the end of a fully booked day required more energy than either partner had anticipated. When they had finished and lay nested together, glistening with sweat and still basking in residual affection and love, Maka's eyelids grew heavy. A nice, long slumber was what she needed.

She was almost asleep when Soul finally spoke up. "You may have no sense of rhythm or tone," he said sleepily, "But goddamn, you are a skin flute virtuoso."

Her eyes snapped open. They both stared at each other for a moment before simultaneously exploding with silent, ribcage bursting laughter. Soul buried his reddening face in a pillow, and Maka struggled to roll away from him so she could look at something a little less ridiculous.

"I can't. Believe. You just. Said that to me," Maka said between dry heaves.

"I'm ashamed," was Soul's muffled response. "But not sorry. I'll never take it back."

Soul rolled towards Maka and wrapped her up in his arms, but his gesture of closeness quickly turned into betrayal as his nimble fingers tickled Maka's exposed stomach. Oh, she detested being tickled, yet Maka couldn't find herself to feel angry or annoyed. This was the most at-ease Soul had been since the Shibusen Spring Swirl first intruded on their lives. As great as broody Soul was, she missed his playfulness.

Exhausted from laughter and sex, the two spooned quietly on their bed, which grew more comfortable and inviting by the moment.

Though she was almost too tired to speak, Maka had one last thing to say to her weapon. "Happy Valentine's Day, you jerk."

She felt Soul kiss her on the neck. "Right back at you, bookworm."

LE FIN


End file.
